


cycles agitating on

by mothwrites



Series: tripartite [6]
Category: Marvel (Comics), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Hulk Feels, Hulk family, Marvel Cameos, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:09:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothwrites/pseuds/mothwrites
Summary: Bruce didn’t notice he was gone for a whole twenty-four hours, and by that time, Rick was already on the road.





	

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: I know nothing about American geography, don't @ me
> 
> I know Rick isn't that popular and only like five people will read this, but I've wanted to write this fic for literal Years and now I finally have an excuse. Special shout-out to seekingsquake for always leaving lovely comments on my tripartite fics and encouraging me to write more about the love of my life, Rick Jones. This is pretty much for you.
> 
> If you're really into Hulk comic history, this fic will be right up your street. If you're not, it'll still be a fun if occasionally confusing read. 
> 
> You can skip this part of the series if you want, but hey, you've made it this far. Find me on tumblr @bunnybanner.

_It was 4:03, in a world asleep, except for me_  
_Alone in the Laundromat, the air too hot to breathe_  
_The Tide was getting low, my pockets were drained_  
_My socks were soaked, my colors all stained_  
_Cycles agitating on… God damn! I needed some change_  
_You walked right through the door_

\- Ludo, ‘Laundry Girl’

 

Bruce said “scram, kid,” once too often. He was always busy; with his work, with Betty, with his _husband._ (Tony insisted they marry to give Bruce that extra layer of legal protection if nothing else.) Bruce said it jokingly, rarely with any real heat behind it, but too often all the same. So Rick scrammed. 

Bruce didn’t notice he was gone for a whole twenty-four hours, and by that time, Rick was already on the road.

“Where are you?” Bruce asked, testy, on the other end of a bad phone connection.

Rick took a long slurp of the soda he’d picked up at a roadside diner and pondered the question. “I don’t actually know,” he admitted. “Just outta state, I think.”

“Oh.” Rick knew that voice. Bruce’s, ‘but I’m a genius’ voice, the one he used when he wouldn’t admit that he didn’t understand something. “When are you coming home?”

Rick took another sip of soda. “I’m not.”

“Oh,” Bruce said again. “Okay.”

He knew that Bruce would be far, _far_ too proud to ask ‘why’. “I’ll send you a postcard,” Rick told him. “Give Peter a hug for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Bruce repeated. Then: “Um. Take care of yourself.”

“Will do,” Rick replied, too cheery. “Bye.”

He hung up the phone, dropped it onto the table, and let his head fall into his arms. _You’re allowed to do this,_ he tried to tell himself firmly. _You’re allowed your own life._

“You okay, hon?” A waitress asked.

Rick sat up, drained the rest of his coffee, and flashed her a trademark _Rick Jones_ smile. “Never better,” he said. “Could I get another cup, please? To go?”

* 

Rick bummed around on the fringes of New York for two weeks; sightseeing, doing some odd jobs, playing a set in a coffee shop here and there. He wasn’t famous enough that his presence made any real dent in society’s everyday life, but he still had enough of the crazy superhero world on him that students would stop him for a photo or to request a song. He tweeted tourist snapshots, selfies with new friends, and replied to messages on the Teen Brigade website every so often, but mostly kept to himself. The Rick Jones solo tour.

Bruce didn’t, or wouldn’t call, but he got updates from Betty once in a while. Jennifer called him once, to his delight, and they spent an afternoon hashing out plans for a visit. Her voice got soft and warm as they said their goodbyes, and she reminded him, “you don’t have to be alone, kid.”

 _I’m not a kid,_ Rick thought. When he was a kid he’d spent five years looking for a man on the run. Now Bruce was home and safe, and Rick had grown up without really noticing it. Twenty-two years old. No job. No qualifications. Only one soulmate. Bruce had made him get a proper driver’s license, but as far life milestones went, that was it.

“So you’ve never had a real job?” A guy at a bar asked him. He’d bought Rick a beer after Rick had played a request for him, a love song for a moody ex who was sat in the corner studying and had determinedly ignored both of them. The guy had shrugged, cut his losses, and asked Rick out instead.

“Nope,” Rick replied, popping the ‘p’. “Unless ‘professional sidekick’ is a job.”

“Sidekick?” The guy perked up. “Like, you know the Avengers?”

“Hey, man,” Rick laughed, “I need about three more beers before you can unlock my tragic backstory.”

They didn’t make it to three beers; Rick woke up the next morning in a student apartment, drew a smiley face on the mirror, petted a cat and drove off. He knew the guy wouldn’t mind; they weren’t soulmates, regardless.

At a rest stop on the next highway, Rick picked up the phone to Peter’s voice. “Hey man,” he said, cheerfully enough. He liked Peter. Peter _got it:_ mostly. _Got it_ in the sense that he _also_ had a grumpy, middle-aged genius for a mentor, but unlike Rick, he also had some living family and two _other_ soulmates, surrounding him with love and care from all sides.

“Hey!” Peter said, relief evident in his voice. “I didn’t think you’d pick up.”

“For my tiniest of bros, I will _always_ pick up,” Rick promised solemnly. “How’s it hanging?”

“Uh…”

“Spit it out, webhead.”

“Are you coming home soon?” Peter asked, his voice tinged with slight desperation. “Big guy misses you.”

“Huh?” Rick straightened up, concentrating fully. “Is he out?”

“For a mission,” Peter was quick to elaborate. “We’re all just winding down. He keeps asking where you are.” Peter winced as a low rumble reverberated through the phone. “Asking is a polite term.”

“Put me on speaker,” Rick instructed.

“Are you sure that won’t just confuse – “

“ _Put me on speaker,_ ” Rick repeated. There was a beep. “Hey, Green Bean. Can you hear me?”

There was the sound of something creaking as Hulk sat down, presumably to be closer to the phone. Peter liked to treat Hulk as a jungle gym, and Hulk never particularly minded, so Rick imagined Peter climbing up onto his shoulder so he could hear better. He tried not to smile.

“Rick?” Hulk asked.

“That’s it,” Rick said soothingly. “What’s wrong, big guy?”

There was a pause in which Rick could hear heavy, deep breaths, and the sounds of talking and the clink of cutlery on plates in the background. Post-battle dinners were another setting where Rick felt ridiculously out of place. Eventually, Hulk said; “Miss you”, with extreme reluctance.

Rick softened, just a little. “I’ll be home soon,” he said. It wasn’t like he planned to stay ‘on holiday’ _forever._ And by the time Hulk was out again on one of his now-rare appearances, Rick was sure he’d be back to his old self again, solo tour out of the way and self-actualisation realised. Hopefully.

“Promise?” Hulk asked, as quietly as a giant rage monster could be. 

“Promise,” Rick said, feeling only a little guilty. “Look, I gotta get back on the road. Don’t you give them nice folks any trouble, you hear? Look after Spider-baby.”

“Yes,” Hulk growled. Rick heard an indignant squawk from Peter as he was picked up and placed gently on the ground, phone in hand.

“See you soon, kid,” Rick said breezily before hanging up, to save having to have the rest of the conversation. “Moving on,” he said to himself.

A kid on a shiny new Vespa had been watching him curiously for the whole conversation, and Rick nodded at him in acknowledgement as he prepared to ride off.

“Little brother?” The kid asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“Was that your little brother?” The kid asked, seemingly unaware of his intrusion into a personal conversation. “From the language used I estimated a son, but your obvious young age and the actual tone of the conversation reads more as a younger brother.”

“Something like that,” Rick said, narrowing his eyes at the kid who couldn’t have been older than fourteen. “Your mom never teach you not to talk to strangers?”

The kid shrugged. He held a puppy of some kind in his arms, and Rick hadn’t the faintest clue how he’d got to this point riding a scooter without losing the damn thing.

“Cute dog,” he acquiesced.

“He’s a coyote,” the boy informed him primly.

“All right, whatever. See you around,” Rick said, and couldn’t imagine why. As he sped off he felt the faintest twinge in his heart, just the slightest pull, but it faded and he kept on going. He supposed the kid just reminded him of someone. 

* 

A girl’s voice called out to him. “Need some change?”

Rick spun around in the empty laundromat to see a girl leaning against a machine, dressed in a oversized hoodie and some jean shorts, with blinding, lime-green hair. She was chewing on bubblegum and regarding him like he was some kind of volatile experiment. He looked down the coins he’d been counting in his palm.

“I just need a quarter,” he said apologetically.

The girl flicked one over.

“Gee, thanks. You’re an angel.”

The girl laughed; a little too short and a little too cold for her age. “I figure anyone _else_ who’s unlucky enough to be washing one set of clothes in a laundromat at-“ she checked a battered mobile phone – “4:03 am, could use a little change.”

“You’re not wrong,” he said again. “I’m Rick.”

She blew a bubble in his general direction. “Nice to meet you.”

Laundry Girl had bright green eyes to match her bright green hair, a posh accent that didn’t match her ratty hand-me-downs and some _very_ strong opinions about music and sci-fi. Rick found he hadn’t enjoyed a conversation more in months.

“Are you on a gap year?” She asked curiously, over a cup of crappy vending machine coffee. “Guitar, motorbike, backpack… you sure _look_ like you’re on a gap year. Are you about to whip out your Moleskine journal of hand-written poetry and convince me to go vegan?" 

Rick shuddered. “Can’t a guy take his guitar and his scooter on a road trip without being attacked? I am not out to seduce any fine ladies with terrible poetry, Miss. Though I do write songs. For a living. Kinda. I don’t have a real job.”

“I can kinda tell,” she said, apologetically. “It’s okay. Neither do I. So, you’re on a road trip? On your own?”

“On my lonesome,” he agreed. “I’m heading home soon. I kind of got into a fight with my Third – is it a fight if the other guy doesn’t know it’s a fight? – and I need to go back and smooth things over.”

“I see.” She didn’t, Rick knew. She was clearly unattached, not surprising for a teenager. She said she was 20, and he almost believed her. “Mentor or mentee?”

“Mentee,” he admitted. “Kind of a shitty one.”

“You don’t seem so bad to me,” she said, practically _shy_ , looking up at him from under long black eyelashes. He’d played her a song for her quarter and she’d been the first person in a long time who looked as if she _got_ the music. Laundry Girl had also skilfully avoided answering any and all questions about herself, and Rick respected that. He’d been there.

There was that _twinge_ again.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he grinned.

A machine beeped, and Laundry Girl got out a small bundle of clothes, hugging them to her chest and inhaling deeply. “Love that smell,” she said, to no-one in particular. “Hey, give me a minute.”

Rick looked away politely, but a few seconds too late, as she stripped off her hoodie and started to change. When he looked back properly at her instruction, she was in combat trousers and a black t-shirt, and was putting her lime-green hair up in a bun. He saw green veins running up her right arm. Something in him _pulled._

“You look nice,” he said, and then, “I think I need to know who you are.” Something was clicking inside him, like clockwork.

She gave him an apologetic smile. “Not yet.”

“Don’t give me that,” he snapped suddenly. “Give me a name, at least. A phone number? Where can I find you?” _Who are you? First, Second?_

“Where can I find _you_?” she asked him, dodging the question again.

“Manhattan. Stark Tower. Or, alternatively, _right here._ ”

“I have to _go,_ ” she explained, almost pouting. “You can feel it too, right? Not ready yet. We’ll find each other again. ”

The _pull_. “I _know,_ but – it’s not _fair._ I came all this way to find _something,_ you can’t just run out on me.”

“Can,” Laundry Girl said childishly. “Am. Sorry.” Someone pounded on the window, making them both jump. “I’m _coming_!” She yelled. “Assholes.”

“Come here,” Rick said, in a last-ditch attempt to keep her with him. She huffed, her green arm on her hip, and looked him up and down, head cocked cutely. Then she leaned forward, and kissed him, clumsy and bubblegum-sweet.

“See you soon,” he promised her, and let her go. She blew him a kiss as she ran out the door.

*

Rick headed back into New York the next day. He didn’t bother with a map, just followed the tug on his heart that led him to Bruce. A week, he promised Peter in a text. His road trip wasn’t quite done yet.

Jennifer welcomed him in with a huge meal, and a beer, and a _real bed_. He made her pancakes in the morning in repayment and flicked batter at Patsy, who had swung by the balcony to giggle at him and welcome him home. He spent a few hours charging his phone and catching up on the latest news before heading out. He took a deep breath. It was good to see the city hadn’t been destroyed in his absence, though there was a definite Hulk-print in a street nearby and if he looked hard enough, he could see the remains of what looked suspiciously like doom-bots. Rick shrugged. Same old, same old.

His feet led him to Brooklyn, where Steve clapped him on the shoulder and threw him into clean-up duty. He grabbed pizza with Sam, waved ‘hi’ to Daredevil on his way back to Jennifer’s, and even ran into Hawkeye in the stairwell, who’d been getting some legal advice on a pesky bad guy. While he was petting Clint’s dog, Rick thought back the last time he’d been caught up in a superhero-villain crisis and what he’d told them.

_"Just remember that this is Rick Jones talking. I trained with the best of the best. The meanest of the greenest. And my Christmas card list will kick your ass."_

“You don’t have to be alone,” Jennifer had said. And he wasn’t.

“Jen?” He popped his head round the living room door. She was working in pyjamas, her hair piled up in a bun, and she smiled up at him. “I’m going home,” he explained.

“Give him a hug for me,” she said in return. “And a kick up the ass if he snaps at you.”

 _I’m coming home,_ Rick sent to Bruce half an hour later as he made his journey back to Stark Tower. He hadn’t seen his actual flat in months. There was no reply. _Don’t sulk._

Bruce was waiting in the living room when he finally dragged his weary body up the elevator and into the main apartment. They shared a long, heavy look.

“Are you done throwing a tantrum?” Bruce asked curtly, but he was radiating love and worry, the kind that Rick could recognise in a heartbeat.

Rick just grinned at him. “You _did_ miss me.”

“Idiot.” Bruce pulled him into a hug for the first time, a rib-cracking squeeze that felt more Hulk than Banner. _“Don’t do that again. I mean, you can if you have to. I know I’m not easy to deal with. But please don’t do that again.”_

 _“So this is what a hug feels like,_ ” Rick sent back, just to be a brat.

“Oh, you’re home _,_ ” came the voice of Tony Stark, somewhere behind them. “Thank _God._ ”

Rick held on tighter, his heart fuller than it had been before he’d left, and a third of it glowing warm once again.

**Author's Note:**

> *bangs pots and pans together* THIS IS SO SELF-INDULGENT I'M SORRY
> 
> If it wasn't obvious, the cameos were Amadeus Cho (Rick's second), and Carmilla Black (First). (Spoiler alert: She's Bruce's daughter. Except no-one actually knows that in the comics. She's very cool and I cosplayed her last year. Absolutely no-one knew who I was.) Neither Cam or Amadeus are at a point in their story where they're ready for a soulmate yet, but we'll see them again. (This AU has very loose rules, okay. Sometimes you're like Peter and Gwen, and you get hit straight away, and sometimes you're like Bruce and Tony and everything takes a little while to sort itself out.)
> 
> The Christmas card quote is a real line from the comics (New Avengers 2015, issue 8.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I really appreciate it. I'll get back to the more popular characters soon. I am definitely taking prompts/requests for this AU, so if you leave a comment, (and please do!) let me know who and/or what you'd like to see more of.


End file.
